Rainbows in My Wine
by Ellarose C
Summary: US/UK. Just a little writing exercise where I tried to write the second time - aka, what happens after the dramatic love confession and emotional first time.


Rainbows in my Wine

England fidgeted as he stood on America's front porch. He couldn't decide whether it would be more appropriate to knock or ring the doorbell or just walk in because they were dating now, after all, however brief and tentative, and- _why_ was he nervous again?

'_Oh, bollocks,_' he muttered and knocked sharply, waited a moment, then opened the door enough to stick his head and shout, "Alfred? Are you in here?"

His answer was the thunder of America above him running towards the stairs in the back of the house. He pushed the door open all the way and bent to pull the handle of his suitcase back out, looking up just in time to see America slide the final few meters down his front hallway and come to a stop in front of England. They stared at each other for a second before America beamed, his grin splitting his face, and England fell in love again in a heart-pounding rush. He wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him savagely, but - oh God, could he do that yet? What if America didn't like that and dropped him, or pushed him away, or-

"Hey," America breathed, jolting England from his panic attack. He tried to smile back. "Well, come on in, don't be a stranger," America said through his grin, leaning in to take the suitcase from England and stealing a kiss in the process. He moved back quickly, but England grabbed a fistful of his shirt before he could retreat and kissed him harder, and America laughed against his mouth and tucked his other arm around his waist. He tugged him flush against his chest and pulled the suitcase over the threshold enough to slap the door closed.

England broke away at the sound of the door slamming and buried his face in America's neck, both hands fisted in his shirt now, taking in everything about him in a breath. "Nice to see you, too," America crooned above his head, dropping the suitcase to wrap both arms around his waist, lifting him to his toes with the force of his hug. England let himself have a moment to dissolve into the embrace before straightening and attempting to pull out of America's hold.

'Attempting' being the key word here.

America smirked down the two inches between their heights as England struggled in vain to break America's grip. "Come off it, Alfred, let me-_ah_!" he broke off into giggles as America started tickling him where his hands where clutching England's sides. He melted against America, unable to stand on his own as his laughter went silent and breathless. America brought one hand up to the side of England's neck, laughing because England was laughing. England's reflexes pulled his shoulder up and head down to defend that side of his neck, and America took his chance and dove in to kiss over the exposed half, stopping his spontaneous tickling. England's laughter turned into hums of pleasure, although the wide smile stayed on his face.

"I missed you," he pressed under his jaw. England let out a soft noise and relaxed his death grip on America's shirt to glide his hands over it, under, rubbing in slow circles.

"Not as much as I, love," he whispered. America wouldn't have heard it if it hadn't been whispered directly into his ear. He flushed and realized they were still standing in his front hall.

He stepped back a little, arms falling away slowly, and suddenly became completely absorbed in taking Arthur's suitcase up to the bedroom while chattering about what they could do for the long weekend England was staying over for. England ducked his head to hide his smile, kicked off his shoes into the open hall closet, and followed.

When they got to the top of the stairs, they ran into their next dilemma. Normally when England stayed over he slept in the guest bedroom down the hall. Now that they were officially sleeping together, though, they should probably sleep together, right?

America turned and gave him a lost look over his shoulder, and England sighed and rolled his eyes with a smile. "Oh, go ahead," he answered the silent question, lightly shoving him in the direction of America's bedroom. America laughed nervously and kicked his slightly ajar door open all the way so the suitcase had room to follow him inside.

England trailed behind him, for lack of anything better to do, and leaned against the doorframe. It was obvious at a glance that he'd surprised America in the middle of purging his room – half of it was spotless, while the other half was filled with the clutter shoved over from the other side. England chuckled as America shoved a pile of clothes into his closet with his foot so he could make a trail to the mostly empty window seat and throw the suitcase on it.

"Sorry about the mess, I was cleaning my room," America said, flipping his hair out of his eyes with a habitual jerk of his head.

England shrugged, then smirked a little. "I don't mind, as long as I get to help you finish." America paled just a little – England was known for being ruthless with throwing anyone else's things away but his own – and started babbling about a lake down the street with a walking path and a really killer local ice cream stand to keep from having to answer. When he was in reaching distance, England finally gave into the decades-suppressed urge and kissed him to shut him up.

America laughed against his mouth, maneuvering him to the wall just inside the door and bracing his hands on it. England's hands wove into America's hair as he tilted his head and tongued into America's mouth, refamiliarizing himself the shape and texture of it. Instincts took over as he finally jumped into America's arms, arms which instantly clutched him close and pressed him completely against the wall. He squirmed away from the light switch digging into his kidney, but didn't even consider breaking the kiss as he looped his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, holding onto America for all his worth.

When they finally parted for air, America pressed their foreheads together and smiled goofily at England, glasses askew and digging into his cheek. "Wanna have sex?"

England smiled in return. "That'd be lovely." America laughed and took long strides to his bed, trying not to step on anything breakable while England tongued at his throat. He moaned and sat England down on the mattress, devoid of sheets but for the plush mattress cover and duvet. He manually unhooked England from around him and quickly shoved his closed laptop and folders of documents off the bed so he could lay England down properly and climb over him. They smiled at each other a moment before England pulled America down for another hot kiss.

They fumbled as they stripped each other down, still unsure about the quirks of the other's body. Their first and only other time together had been more about the _Finally_ than actually doing things right. Now, they both took it slow, savoring the feel of skin on skin and the gasps and shivers contact cost them. America did his best to make England breathless, tugging him up to be more on the bed under him and not hanging off as much, lifting his hips to slide off the pants he had unbuttoned at some point. England did his best to help him take his own pants off, then pushed them to a sitting position and pulled America's shirt off by the hem. Somewhere along the way England had been divested of his shirt as well, thrown over America's acoustic guitar by the nightstand, so both were left in only their underwear. England's eyes flickered, giving America only a moment's notice before he was flipped over and straddled. England attacked his mouth and ground against him harshly, prompting America to whine and buck back with equal force, holding onto England's ass for leverage. He sucked on a breath at that, and his evershifting hands settled in the dips of America's pelvis.

"You have lube, right?" England panted when America went to kiss his collarbone. He nodded, hair brushing his chin. As reluctant as he was to lose contact, England was also desperate for actual sex, so he crawled up the bed to the nightstand, which was luckily part of the room that had been cleaned. Then he stopped and stared, for this nightstand had no drawers.

A low laugh behind him, and America's weight and heat was pressed against his back, knelt around him. "Where _is_ the bloody lube?" England growled at him, ignoring how America seemed to have lost his underwear in the five seconds apart and glaring at him over his shoulder. America laughed again, then carefully pushed England to the side and laid down on his stomach to open a box sitting on the bottom shelf of the night table, pulling out lube and a condom. England grunted and shimmied out of his own pants, lying back against America's stripped pillows and crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. America laughed and knelt beside him.

"Now that's no way to act in bed, honey," he said too smoothly, then stiffened. England raised an eyebrow, his scowl twitching into a smile.

"'Honey'? Really?" America's face turned red and he stared at his folded legs. He mumbled something incoherent, and England leaned in with a smirk. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"It's what I always call you in my head," he mumbled a little louder.

England's smile softened. "Oh, come here, you big buffoon," England said, linking his fingers behind America's neck and pulling him down to kiss him. America smiled against his mouth and pressed him down into the pillows, taking control of the kiss and making it slow and deep. England clung to him, spreading his legs with only a little embarrassment when America's hands worked their way down there. There was a _pop_ and a _squirt_, and then cold, slick fingers circled around his entrance, making his breath catch. One pushed in, and he choked a little, burying his face into America's shoulder.

America comforted him as best he could, massaging the heel of his hand into the base of his spine while kissing his temple, swirling his finger around. When England's pants shifted into whines for more, he slid the second finger in and scissored, twisted.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, nails digging into America's back. America hissed, fingers jerking inside him and the idle grinding's tempo rising. England smirked. "You like that, huh?" he purred into America's ear. America's breath fanned hot over his shoulder and down his back, and he bit softly on America's cartilage. He tensed tight as a bowstring in his arms, then hurried to add the third finger and pump them in and out of England. He cried out at the unexpected extra intrusion, but didn't protest as he locked his ankles at America's back and kept up with America's thrusts. He pulled America's earlobe through his teeth a few times, and America groaned with each one. "So you _do_ like that," England breathed. America nodded against his shoulder furiously. "How exciting."

England dragged his nails down America's sides, just harsh enough to leave pink trails behind, and America growled above him.

"You better be ready, 'cause I'm comin' in," he rasped through a dry throat, pulling his fingers out (with a soft noise of protest from England that he mainly ignored) and sitting back so he could roll the condom on and slick himself up, eyes closing as he willed his hand not to affect him. England watched with hooded eyes as America crouched over him, England's legs bringing his hips up to meet America's, and positioned himself at his entrance. Just before he pushed in, he raised his suddenly vulnerable and unsure eyes to England. "You are ready, right?"

Taken off guard, England laughed, reaching up to take off his glasses and toss them off the bed somewhere (gently, of course; he didn't want Texas sinking into the Gulf of Mexico or seceding from the Union again). "Oh, you wonderful man," he said warmly, cupping the face smiling above his. "I'm always ready for you." America ducked his head into England's shoulder and sighed as he pushed in slowly.

The first thrust stole England's breath away and never gave it back, forcing him to take in air in shallow gasps as America moved languidly in him, grunting in a way that would have been unattractive if it wasn't America in the middle of fucking him. The angle caused England to shift around with each thrust which, when he regained some kind of mental awareness, wasn't working very well. He rolled them over suddenly, causing America to blink in surprise and shake his head as if to clear it. England splayed his hands on his abdomen and lifted himself up, almost away, then slammed back down – and _that_ was what he'd been looking for.

He threw his head back and moaned, feeling America's hands holding onto his hips vaguely as he set a new rhythm, one which drove America in deeper each time and made him lose track of where he was. When the prostate play was almost too intense, England would stop with America buried balls deep in him and just roll his hips, petting America's chest and stomach as he asked him what he liked, for he still didn't know and he wanted to. America just swore and moved England himself, and England didn't try to pretend that it didn't turn him on even more.

America sat up suddenly, pulling England's bent knees over his shoulders on the way, and England fell back, landing on his elbows and staring up at an America who looked ravenous; it sent a shudder through his everything as he stared back with what he hoped was equal intensity. He lifted one of his legs from America's shoulder and let it fall down slowly to wrap under his arm and around his back, not breaking the eye contact. America bent down to kiss him, and England ignored the burn in his right leg's thigh to stretch his neck up to meet him, kissing as well as he could in his state.

When they needed to breathe again, America rose to his knees, forcing England off his elbows and onto his shoulders. He arched up, reaching back to grip the low footboard in time for America to take hold of both of his legs at the knees and start thrusting again, and England lost all sensory input in a wave of pleasure, going into orgasm only a few thrusts into the new position. He might have screamed, but he couldn't tell.

He floated down to America's final thrusts before gasping his name and filling him with heat, his hands bruising his skin where they gripped too hard but England was too sated to care. As he watched through lidded eyes, America sighed and leaned against the leg thrown over his shoulder, smiling and nuzzling England's thigh.

There was an awkward bunch in the duvet under England he hadn't noticed lying on earlier, and he let go of his death grip on the footboard to straighten it out under him. His shifting around caught America's attention, and he blinked his eyes open slowly and gave him a wide smile. "Hey," he said, massaging his hands into where they were on England's legs, remind him of the bruises there. When had the room turned so white and glowy?

"Hey yourself," he replied, and was surprised at how scratchy his voice was. Maybe he had screamed after all.

He sat back, letting America slip out of him with a hiss from both sides, and unwound himself from America so he could get up and shove the tied-off condom into one of the half-full trash bags on the floor. Then he gave a running jump back onto the bed, making England yelp as he was bounced an inch or two in the air, and grabbed onto his waist from behind. He laughed as he rolled them both up in the soft denim duvet, and England could feel that his chest was still sticky and that he could barely move and the clutter he'd ignored in favor of his libido earlier really did grate on his nerves-

But then America nuzzled into the back of his neck and breathed out "_I love you_," and he forgot why he was supposed to care as he closed his eyes and fell in love again.


End file.
